Behind the Veil
by ThomasChessandBirch
Summary: On after another, the Golden trio fall through the veil. Waking up on the other side, they must navigate through a world of super heroes and super villains in order to get home.
1. Chapter 1

**So, this is my first story in a while, and I'm quite nervous about it.**

 **Here I attempt to write a crossover of something I have always wanted to read. I'm planning to update every Wednesday, with each entry being over 1,00 words.**

 **At the moment I have the whole story planned out, and the first 3 chapters written, so I'm hoping you will all like it.**

* * *

The Veil stood in the middle of a large chamber. An archway and a cloth, floating.

Voices whispered from within the fabric, heard by only few. Still, now one like to go near it, no one like to be alone in that room.

No one knew what it was, no one knew what it did, all they knew what that it was there, and once you went through, you never came back.

Sirius Black was the first to fall through the Veil in over a century.

Harry, never one to be left behind, followed him, escaping the hands that held him, tears running down his face.

Hermione, knowing Harry would need her, staggers through days later with an open wound across her belly.

Ron, forever loyal, didn't hesitate to follow, he knew, after all, that they would both be lost without him.

* * *

Hermione was the first to remember, just like she had been the first to cast the spell, the first to put her hand up. Hermione was always the first.

It was a bright day in the middle of summer, she was in a park, sitting on a bench and feeding the pigeons. The bread was old and green, but she knew the birds would eat whatever was put in front of them.

They were nervous, cooing, creeping forwards as though Hermione were about to kick them. A frown covered Hermione's face. She did this a lot, and the birds just about knew her by sight, often gathering around her as soon as she stepped into the park.

They were _never_ this nervous, and a deep, foreboding feeling settled in her gut. Something was wrong, something was very wrong, and she knew that if she didn't do anything soon, everything was going to get real bad, real fast.

Hermione stood up, dropping the rest of the bread on the floor, ignoring the flurry of wings as, nervousness forgotten in the face of so much food, the birds gathered around her. She looked around, seeing nothing but children playing and couples kissing. The world was at peace with the start of the summer holidays, but Hermione's gut just wouldn't shut up.

Then, there was a loud bang.

The pigeons scattered, bread forgotten, and all around her she saw people gasp, their eyes widened. A woman screamed, and a man fainted. She turned to look, more out of instinct then any desire to see what was going on.

It was then that she saw, and it was then that she remembered.

The sky had been torn open, and she was a witch.

Hermione had a sudden desire to run towards the madness, because that's what she did before, because these sudden memories hurt, and a life was flashing before her eyes, a life with a happy family and good friends.

A life that was so painfully different to what she had now.

That was what she used to do, always run towards it, never away like she would now, like she had done countless times. It felt strange, these new desires pulling her body in different directions.

But logic won out, like it had done in both her lives, and she knew there was nothing she could do, these events were connected, and she needed to find Harry and Sirius, only right now she was unarmed, and unsure if her magic had gone through the veil with her.

If she went towards the chaos, she would die. There was no question about it. But looking at looking up, seeing thick plums of smoke, she wasn't sure staying here would be the best option either.

She started to turn, only to freeze in horror as _something_ started to fall out of the portal. No. that wasn't right. They were flying.

Panic gripped her, as bodies pushed past, screaming and crying, mothers gripping onto children for dear life.

The things were coming closer, flying overhead.

They were so fast, faster than she had ever seen.

She was in a sea of people, trying to get through the gates and onto the street, but it was no use, the monsters were landing, crawling over cars like ants. They had seen the scene, the people running, and they were out for blood.

Hermione couldn't go that way, but she couldn't go any other way either, it was en enclosed placed. High bars around the entire place, they were meant to make the park look classy, but all they were doing now was killing them.

Hermione was still panicking, she has started toward the gate, but knew she had no chance of getting through, the monsters were about to start firing, and the people were about to start falling.

Some of them had turned back, seeing what was about to happen, but it was no use, those at the back were still trying to get to the gate, unaware.

Hermione heard a cry, followed the strange whooping sound of the gun, before, slowly, she saw the people starting to fall.

She turned away. The back of the park was empty. There was no exit this way, there was no need to be here in this open space.

Hermione started moving, an idea already forming in her mind.

The park was in the middle of two apartment buildings, one side looked out onto the main street, the other an alleyway that twisted off into countless warehouses and slum streets.

The space behind her was nothing but benches and trees, trodden down grass, and, lining the fence, a thick hedge.

This is a safe place, the bushes said, as long as you don't look past the surface.

She remembered hiding in those bushes as a child, tucked in between the branches, her own secret world. She remembered how she got there, though a bent bar in the fence. If she could get there now, if she could fight her way through the bushes, maybe she would have a chance, maybe she could get out of this alive.

Hermione ran, not looking anywhere but in front of her. Not looking at the people falling, covered in blood, at the monsters stepping over them, on them, like they weren't even there.

It felt like it took her an hour to get to the back of the park, though it was probably only a few seconds. Her chest was screaming in pain, as she dived through the hedges, branches cutting her, thrones tearing her clothes, as she reached out, her fingertips grazing the metal bars, and she was so close, so close to escaping, to getting away that her heart has already started soaring and refile had already started to flood through her body when

A hand gripping onto her ankle, cold and clammy and painful.

Dragging Hermione back as she screamed, as she tried to grab onto something, anything.

But the bars were too far away, the branches broke away in her hand, and she could feel the tears running down her face and...

Hermione blinked, and she looked up into the barrel of the gun.

* * *

 _(Sirius Black fights in the sky, he doesn't remember)_

* * *

Ron Weasley was _happy._

He was sat at the table, cake in front of him, and staring out of the window. Below him was the entire city, buildings reaching towards the sky, some made of brick and some made of metal. Their signs glowed and flashed, and the faint presence of people sweeping past windows was just about visible.

Smaller buildings were nestled in between them, like children looking up at their parents. From his seat, he could see a flash of green from Central Parks, and in is head he could see the people there, parents with their children, and dates on romantic walks.

Ron signed and closed his eyes, he was happy, yes, but he was alone. At the moment, it felt like he was always alone.

After a while, he glanced around, at the huge space and expensive furniture. He didn't know where his parents were, he never knew. Maybe they were at work, being highly paid lawyers working for Stark Industries, but maybe they weren't, maybe they were out drinking or having affairs, maybe they each had another family, and he had just fallen by the wayside.

He knew, of course, that-

The ground shock, and the sky fell, night pouring out of it. Night that was creeping over everything, turning the skyline black, a thick, wriggling black like a million ants crawling all over each other. There were red flashes of fire like stars, shots of blue going this way and that.

Ron blinked, lost, and his mind felt like it had been doused in gasoline and set on fire. His clutched his head in his hands, tears streaming down his face.

He remembered.

He remembered holidays spent in a tall, lop sided building that was falling apart, he remembered long winding hallways lit by candles, he remembered friends and family.

Ron Weasley remembered he was a wizard, Ron Weasley remembered he was loved.

He tried to control his breathing, in and out, but it didn't make any difference. He could hear the crashing of buildings, the screaming of people, and he knew he needed to move, he knew he needed to get out of this place and onto the ground, somewhere safe.

It wasn't night, it was monsters. Death Eaters? But no, there were too many of them, they moved to swiftly, fought too poorly. Flashes of light with no rhyme or reasons, not like spells. But if they weren't Death Eaters, who were they?

Ron staggered to his feet, suddenly registering the deafening ringing of the alarm. Fire. The building was on fire, or maybe the smoke had tricked a sensor. All Ron knew that if the alarm was on, the elevator wouldn't be working, and to escape, he would have to climb down sixty stories, over a thousand stairs.

Stairs that wouldn't protect him if those things got in, stairs that wouldn't do a damn thing if the whole building collapsed.

His breathing, calming down, sped up, his heart beat become so loud, it drowned out the alarm. He couldn't do it, he was stuck.

Ron sniffed hesitantly, he couldn't smell smoke, and edging closer to the window, he couldn't see any coming from his building, though it was hard to tell, with thin wisps coming from somewhere, and thick black plums in the distance.

Something flew past his window, followed by another and another, and he dropped to the floor, curling up and repeating spells in his head, over and over. Maybe they would do something,

But no, his chest jerking with sobs, nothing happened, he had to do something, something real and physical, only he couldn't go down and he couldn't go up.

Ron didn't want to die here, in his empty home, filled with empty memories. His mother avoiding eye contact, his father sending his away, acting like he didn't even have a son.

He uncurled, and took in a huge breath, standing up and staggering to his room. He remembered the Devils Snare, where all he had to was calm down and stay still. There was nothing to do now, well, nothing but praying that everything will be alright and ignore the screams.

He remembered the Devils Snare, where all he had to was calm down and stay still. But he couldn't do that then, and he couldn't do it now. Ron closed his eyes and shoved his fist in his mouth, biting down, harder and harder until he could taste blood. He didn't think about his parents, who might have been at Stark tower, who might have been right below the crack, right next to the monsters, who might be-

A crash, and the world shook again, and he was tumbling, falling as the cracked, and Ron could heat the impact, one after another as they crashed and crashed and crashed into the building.

Ron held his breath, bracing both hands on the floor, as there was another almighty crash and the building started to tip, and Ron was suddenly sliding, screaming, with one thought in his mind.

He was going to die.

* * *

 _(Sirius Black Flies in the sky, he doesn't want to remember.)_

* * *

Harry Potter watched the destruction through a filter, his sister sitting on his knee, sucking her thumb. His mum was stood behind him, her hands clutching his shoulders with a vice like grip.

He reached up and gripped her hand.

They were safe.

Harry Potter did not remember.

* * *

 **Please read and review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you all for such a great response! I wasn't really sure about posting this, it's not something that really been done before, though correct me if i'm wrong.**

 **For any questions, everyone is just about the same age as they were before they went through the veil.**

 **As for paring, there are none planned at the moment, the golden trio are too young too be paired with the avengers, and in cannon they're not at the point where it is an option.**

* * *

Plato once suggested that time can be infinity divided, that a moment can be broken down again and again, never ending. A single event lasting forever.

Hermione stared down the barrel of a gun. The thing stood in front of her, huge and heaving, with grey-green skin and bright blue eyes. It's gold tinted armour shinned in the sunlight.

She was trapped in the moment, in this strange infinite where the gun was raised, getting higher and higher, but never quite reaching level with her face.

Her mind was racing, one idea after another, but each one useless, none of them were going to help her, none of them were going to stop of the light or kill the monster. Her mind stopped, a spanner in the shape of five words: she was going to die.

It was an oddly calming thought, though she knew it was a dangerous one. Was it her mind giving up? was she accepting death?

No. Her mind has stopped. Her breathing was slowing down. An old instinct, from the days were dying was common place. After all, how could you think, how could you do _anything_ when you couldn't breathe, when you couldn't cast a spell?

Of course, the calmness did nothing for the current situation, the monster above her didn't care that her heart beat was slowing down and her breathing (almost) was steady, all it cared about was that she was alive when she should be dead.

All it did was continue to raise the gun, slower and slower, almost as if it was mocking her, mocking her fear. A tear slid down her face, as a cry pushed its way past her lips.

Wait. Hermione held her breath, unwilling to believe her eyes. The gun _had_ stopped moving, everything had. From the monsters hanging in the sky to the beams of light from the guns, everything had stopped.

A small shot of refill shot through her, she had magic, _(MAGIC!)_ she couldn't feel it like she used to, no tingling in her fingers, just a deep burning in her chest, spreading out into her body. It hurt, it hurt so much, but at this point Hermione didn't care, before it was the only way she was going to survive.

She blinked slowly, and rolled onto her front, staggering upwards, fighting to keep her balance with her shaking legs. Her whole body suddenly felt like jelly, like she'd just run a marathon.

With a great effort she managed to stand up, only to fall back to her knees straight away with a cry. breathing heavily, Hermione clenched her fists, felt them scrape on the gravel beneath her.

Hermione pushed forwards again, standing, wobbling like a new born foal. In a desperate measure to stay upright Hermione reached forwards, gripping onto the things arm, feeling the armour dig into her fingers and wanting to scream so badly, but so scared to disrupt whatever magic was working.

The burning in her chest was becoming worse, it was spreading all around her body, and for a moment she was sure she could feel it in her hair. It wasn't as bad as dying though, and Hermione knew that as soon as the burning stopped time would start again and she would be caught.

She would be gunned down without a second though. No one to morn her but a junkie mother, who might already be dead _(god she hoped her mother wasn't dead)_.

With a gasp she dived through the brush and groped wildly for the bent bar, feeling it scratch her face. It felt like it took her forever to find the bent bar, and time seemed to stretch on even more as she squeezed herself though, breathing in as much as possible. It was a tight fit, but, at last, she was through, she was in the alley.

The alley was dirty, lined with overflowing bins, smelling so bad she wanted to gag. Tall buildings towered above her, lined with caged doors and barred windows. At the end of the alley she could see more creatures, three in a line, and oh god, a line of dead bodies all slumped in a pile.

The monsters were walking forwards, a good 100 feet in front of her and not looking back, had she escaped from one death trap to another, unable to go forwards, unable to go back.

The burning was getting so much worse, her eyes were watering and her brain was on fire, but now that she was here, away from the monsters and faced with a new set, Hermione's brain froze. She had no idea what to do.

She couldn't go into any of the buildings, she didn't have time to check every door and-

The burning in her chest become, all at once, too much. Hermione fell to her knees and let out a gurgled scream, covering her mouth in a futile effort to muffle the noise.

The burning stopped, and her heat sped up.

Time started again, and Hermione dove for the bins, trying to get out of sight, sinking down into the trash until she was covered completely by old food and banana peels.

The footsteps of the monsters echoed, and slowly, become quiet. they were walking away,they hadn't heard her, she was safe. for breath was shallow as she waited for it to pass.

* * *

The only sound was the screaming.

Ron Weasley was going to _die._

He had lived a long-ish life, a life had had become much longer within the last ten minutes, and a happy, if lonely life. He'd done everything he wanted, travelled far and wide.

It was just a shame, he thought, sliding down towards the kitchen, half of the living room furniture fall with him, that he would die alone.

The faces of his family flash through his mind, from this life and his last. He remembers Christmases, one filled with cheer and joy, the other spent alone, eating cold take away.

He remembered magic and friends and so many things he didn't have now. He wondered where everyone else was, Hermione and Harry, he wondered if they were safe, far away from here.

He wondered if they remembered, or if he were alone with this knowledge. It was heavy and it hurt, like bricks were falling and falling and not stopping. Maybe, he thought haltingly, that's because none of it was true, may all this, the monsters and the dying had simply broken him, maybe he was going crazy.

He hoped he wasn't going crazy, he wasn't sure he could handle it.

Ron drew in a deep breath. He was leaning against one of the walls, though he had no idea when falling has progressed to fallen, no idea when the windows had smashed, showering him in glass and small nicks, already seeping blood.

Ron let out his breath, trying not to hyperventilate, something that become much, much harder when he looked up, locking eyes with one of the aliens.

It lay on the ground and grunted. It's gold plated armour was covered in thick black blood, a tall, purple tipped arrow sticking out of its chest. Black eyes looked away, its hand reaching out for something as Ron covered his mouth and tried not to scream.

The monster grunted again and Ron watched in awe and it pulled the arrow out of his chest, taking more blood and something thick and black and _solid,_ like an organ, and Ron couldn't help but scream this time, no hand could muffle it, because the monster had ripped one of its organs out of its body.

He was so caught up in the horror Ron didn't even notice the monster had found what it was looking for until it stood up and pointed a gun.

He and It locked eyes, and Ron breathed. For a moment, he didn't think the thing would pull the trigger, that he, for some unknown reason, would be spared. He almost believed this, right up until the trigger was pulled, and Ron saw himself facing down a jet of blue light.

With a sudden speed and an instinct, he didn't know he had, Ron dived to the side, missing the beam of light by an inch. The smell of burnt hair filled the room as Ron landed painfully behind the breakfast bar. Screaming as the granite shattered with the impact of another blast.

Ron shuddered, and curled up, pressing his knees against his head. He was going to die. There were no two ways about it, only, Ron didn't want to die, he wanted to fight.

He could hear the heavy, limping footsteps of the monster coming towards him, and daring to look over his shoulder, over the burnt rock, Ron felt his mind spin with different options. It was like a game of chess, a pawn against a queen, and the only way for a pawn to take a queen was too…

With a jerking motion Ron lifted his arm and pointed out the window, letting the terror raging inside of him leak out onto his face. He screamed, high and piecing, scrambling backwards until he was against the wall, a good ten feet away from the window. The monster halted, less than a moment as he went to turn, before thinking better of it. But that was all Ron needed as he dived forwards, coving the space in the blink of an eye.

Suddenly, Ron was in top of the monster, pushing into the open wound and wrestling away the gun. It screamed in his ear, an oddly human sound coming from something so alien, before Ron was able to take control, yanking the gun and turning it on the creature.

He blinked and let out a break he didn't know he had before pulling the trigger.

The light made him flinch away, recoiling as the body beneath him seemed to melt, the skin on the creatures' face melting into blue carpet.

His stomach was turning and twisting, and all at once his lunch was on the floor, mixing with the monster. Again, and again until nothing but bile was leaving, and tears were streaming down his face.

Ron stare, the only thing on his mind was that his parents would not be happy with the mess.

If they were still alive, he hoped they were still alive.

He didn't think about how fast he had moved, or the fact that he hadn't moved at all, rather disappeared in place and appeared in another.

No, Ron would not think about that later.

 _(Close by, a man flies through a hole that seems so familiar, and drops a bomb that he built. His suit hums around him, almost like magic.)_


	3. Chapter 3

Hello!

Sorry the chapters a bit late, but life got a little hectic, and this is the first change I've gotten to post it.

(uploaded the wrong chapter by mistake... opps)

 **Disclaimer: I do not own this, though I very much wish that i did.**

* * *

Hermione stayed in the bin until she couldn't feel her legs. It was all she took to keep her breathing steady and quiet, to stop herself from sobbing uncontrollably.

Hours past, or what felt like it, and it slowly dawned on Hermione that she couldn't say here. Her bladder was screaming, and her stomach was rumbling. The longer she stayed, the worse it would get.

She would need to leave, and she would need to leave soon, only she had no idea how. the obvious answer would be to halt time again, and rush through the streets until she found somewhere safe, but no how hard she tried, she couldn't recreate that moment. Maybe it was because she was so tried, maybe it was because she didn't dare think about the terror of the park that had first triggered the accident, but whatever the cause, time just kept on ticking.

Signing, and with no other choice Hermione lifted the lid, peering out into the alleyway.

It was empty, no monsters, no humans. Only that didn't mean she was safe. Maybe everyone was dead, and the monsters had simply gotten bored, or maybe Iron Man had saved the day, like he had so many times before.

She hoped it was the last one, oh god she hoped everything was okay.

Slowly, Hermione creeped down the alley, ignoring the pile of bodies at the end _, (six in total, four men, a woman and child,)_ and peering out at the end. Her heart was beating so hard in her chest, she was sure it would rip out of her chest and fly away, leaving a bloody trail behind it.

It was a strange sight, and for a moment Hermione wasn't sure what she was seeing, the street in front of her was littered with bodies, some human, but most of them huge hulking figures, some had huge craters beneath them like they had fallen from the sky other were slumped where they stood, their heavy armour not letting them fall.

The image reminded Hermione of a puppet show she had attended when she was young, where half way through the man behind the curtain had quit, dropping the puppets and walking out. the cloth people lay there, black button eyes staring out into the distance.

So caught up in the site, in her memories, she didn't notice the man until he reached out and touched her shoulder, light, gentle, but enough to send Hermione scrambling backwards, screaming and covering her face with her hands.

Enough to make time stop. This time, she didn't need to look around to know what was happening, she could tell by the burn in her chest, humming along.

It took a while for her to calm down. For her heart to stop screaming and her breathing to slow down. It was even longer before she dared to open her eyes a take in the threat with had spooked her so much.

This time it was a man. He wore thick black body armour, with the letters SHEILD printed on in white. His visor was pushed up to the top of his head, revealing kind eyes and a soft smile. He wasn't.

Hermione breathed, and took stock of the situation. Her power worked different then magic, that much obvious. Magic was always there, generally easy to call and easy to use. Whatever she had now only came when she needed it, though she hoped it would get easier to call the more she used it. She wondered briefly if Harry had developed some sort of power, if Sirius had.

Sirius…

With a start, time started again, and the man was leaning down, murmuring words that went straight over Hermione's head. If he'd noticed anything strange, he didn't mention it. All Hermione could do was stare at him, in shock as her mind tried to take it all in.

Sirius Black was Tony Stark, and she had to get to him.

* * *

Ron Weasley sat in a pub, the air around him smoky. Behind the bar footage of New York Invasion played on loop. Some pretty blonde women waved her hands as she talked, though the exact words couldn't be heard over the roar of the pub.

It had been four days, and it was still all anyone could talk about, new footage shown every day, people dying in a hundred different ways, their pain displayed for views. It made Ron feel sick, made him want to scream and shout and throw his glass at the TV just to get it to shut up.

Ron signed, and looked out the window. It was strange to think that, even though he had been to this pub many times, he had never walked along the cobblestones. Of course, his life as a muggle was different to his life as a wizard, and there were no wizards here.

He signed again. While testing out his new powers had been interesting, the overall trip to London had been a bust. Ron had prowled along all the old haunts, looking for any hint that magic still existed. Where the Ministry was lay a toothpaste factory, where Saint Mungo's was simply a shopping centre, and Leaky Cauldron was a Wetherspoons.

 _(He didn't dare go to the site where the Burrow once stood, couldn't see the bare to see the empty fields, it would break him.)_

Ron had looked high and low, finding nothing, not even a whiff. Part of him of crumbling, no, scratch that, all of him was crumbling, falling down like a poorly made castle. He had no idea what to do. Ron closed his eyes, and that all familiar panic started to fill him.

He tried to breath, but, no matter how hard he tried, the air just wouldn't enter.

The world started to blur, and still, there was no breath. Ron wanted to be away, to go anywhere but here, but even his power had abandoned him. He had nothing.

Two lives in ruin, one that didn't exist, and another so fractured he wasn't sure it could ever be fixed. He wasn't sure what to do, he wasn't sure there was anything he _could_ do, alone as he was.

They said no man was an island, but here he was, standing on nothing but a rock with a palm tree, too far away to see any other land. It was horrible, and he wanted nothing more then to run and hide, but Ron knew he couldn't. after all, you can't hide from something that's inside you.

Finally, after what felt like days, Ron's breathing evened out, and he was able to open his eyes, wipe away the tears he didn't know he's shed. He looked around, but no one was looking at him, relief shot through him, at least he didn't have to feel their pitying glances. Still, he couldn't stay here, the smoke was filling his lungs, choking him. Ron stood and walked out of the pub, letting the door slam behind him.

He couldn't go on like this, he had to pull up his boot straps, and get down to business. He hadn't tried very hard at anything in either lives, always preferring to coast along. It would end here. He had to think.

He had gone through the veil with a mission, and he was going to fulfil that mission even if he died trying. Ron Weasley was going to find his friends, and he was going to go home, even though he was no longer quite sure where that was.

The only problem was where to start. For a moment, his mind went blank, before whirring into motion.

His name had stayed the name, as well as his general appearance, so it was only fair to assume that everyone else's had. It wouldn't be that hard to get into the national data base, money was worth a lot in this world, and he had a lot of it.

Their names might have been a bit common, but Hermione would be 16, and hopefully have a driver's licence and with a picture. Once he had found her, he would have a better idea what to do, two heads were better than one after all.

He didn't think about what would happen if she didn't remember, because she _would_ remember.

Walking down the street, Ron stood taller, felt some of the weight he was carrying fall away. He had a plan, he had something to concentrate on, and yes, he may be grasping at straws, but it was _something._

With a blink he disappeared. If there was nothing else good about this new universe, he sure did love his new power.

* * *

 _Harry sat on a chair made of thick bones, his hands resting on skulls. The room around him was grand, certainly grander than any room Harry had been in before. An ached roof towered above him, held by marble pillars carved to look like snakes. Harry looked down at the men in front of him, seated at a long table._

 _They were wearing what looked like robes, with white masks coloured to look like skulls covering their faces._

" _Are we almost ready?" he felt himself say in a voice that wasn't his own. Higher and scarier._

 _One of the men stood up and stepped forwards, bowing so low his hooked nose almost touched the floor beneath him. Harry's finger circled the socket of one of the skulls, smooth and soothing. He felt his snake curled up at his feet, her great length wrapping around the chair, keeping him safe._

" _Yes, my Lord." the man in a low voice, not looking up. "The Runes are in place, and the monitoring spells are being constructed. We should be ready to send Malfoy through by the end of the week."_

" _Good." Harry heard himself murmur, holding up his white hand and watching the ring on his finger shine in the light of the candles. "You have proved yourself Severus, and done much more than I thought you capable of, I am pleased."_

 _The man in front of Harry, Severus, nodded his head slightly, "Yes, My Lord, Thank you, My Lord."_

 _and bowed lower, before starting again "My Lord- "he started, only to be interrupted._

" _You may go." He called out, and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. Harry wasn't interested in what the man had to say, it would no doubt be something stupid, and Harry simply wasn't in the mood_

 _Severus nodded again and backed away, still bowing._

" _We are coming for you Harry Potter, be sure of it." He spoke his own in a low hiss, clenching his fist and slamming it down. The skull cracked, and Harry smiled, before laughing._

Harry woke up sweating, glancing wildly around his darken room, a shiver running down his spine and his heart beating wildly. Harry rolled over, hurriedly turning on his bedside table lamp and letting the soft light fill the room. He was half expecting there to be men huddled at the edge of his bed, cloaked by the darkness. But there was no one, it was just a dream.

Harry had always had the strangest, most vivid dreams, his mother said they were his past life, bit that couldn't be right. After all, there was no such thing as magic, and no matter how hard he wanted to believe motorcycles defiantly didn't fly.

* * *

Well, well, well. This was a bit of a filler chapter, but several things took place that needed to happen, and there was no way to really spice them up.

Next chapter: Harry gets a proper point of view, and several Characters met! Please read and review.


	4. Chapter 4

_I am very sorry for the wait with this chapter,a mixture of computer trouble and exams have stopped me from updating sonner, should I should be able to get back to A normal schedule now._

 _Thank you all or the lovely reviews, they made my hard weeks bearable._

 _I do not own Harry Potter or the Avengers, though I very much wish I did._

* * *

 _A troll. Twenty feet fall swinging a club longer than her._

Hermione closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She clenched her fists and bit the inside of her check. Even though it was the middle of summer, the air around her was cold and misty, with dark clouds looming over her.

 _She is falling. Covered in chunks of wood, digging into her skin. The troll is going to swing again. It is going to kill her._

Hermione shivered, and started to move. Whole blocks were still cordoned off, soldiers in full body armour and semi automatic guns patrolling. The sight make her walk faster, pulling up her hood.

 _No one is coming. She is going to die alone and scared._

It takes her an hour to walk to Stark tower. The only part of the city with regular people. They crowded round the building, screaming and yelling. Some of them held signs of thanks, some large toys or red and gold scarfs.

H _uge yellow eyes staring right at her. They froze her in that moment, where all she could feel was a fear._

Hermione stood at the edge of the crowd. Her heart beating fast in her chest. She was scared, so scared. This was her only chance to get to Sirius, her only chance to get some help with all this. If he didn't remember, Hermione didn't know what she would do, what she could do.

 _Dementors. All around, no chance of escape, no hope. She was screaming silently, her mouth open and nothing coming out._

Hermione closed her eyes again, as she felt the first drops of rain on her head.

 _A hand reached out, an open mouth on an otherwise featureless face. Scabbed lips and bare, blackened gums. Her blood was ice, frozen in her veins, she was going to be kissed, suffer a fate worse than death._

The rain stopped around her, and Hermione reached out to touch a droplet, and it broke apart. A small smile broke spread across her face, and the burning started to spread. She was getting better at this.

She stepped forwards, and started to make her way through the crowd. It was harder than she thought it would be, and several feet in, she completely lost her bearing. Walking further, Hermione cursed her small structure and the sheer volume of people.

She moved forwards, weaving through the crowd until he was at the front, looking up at the huge tower in front of her. It was half collapsed, with scaffolding and red and gold tarps climbing up the side like strangely coloured vines.

Tearing her gaze away, Hermione ducked under the barricade and side stepped the frozen guards with clutching semi-automatic guns.

It was a show of force she wasn't used to, and for a moment she hesitated. She hadn't like to think about what would happen if they caught her. Sure, she would be able to escape well enough, but for how long? The hundreds of cameras would capture her face, and then it wouldn't be that hard to find her.

Hermione shuddered, and moved forwards, shrinking into her hoodie and putting her balled fists into her pocket on instinct.

Her mind was racing, danming thoughts making her head spin.

They would ask questions which she couldn't answer. They would lock her up and experiment, test the limits of her power. If she ever dared to escape, they would hunt her down like a dog, and when they realised she was unless, they would shoot her and see if they could get any more information from her corpse.

She would never find Sirius, she would never find Harry.

No, she couldn't think about that. Face forwards, move, don't look back, don't around. One foot ( _feet that felt like concrete_ ) after the other.

Her chest burned, her whole body burned as she staggered through the glass lobby, gasping for breath and trying not to fall to her knees with panic and pain. She couldn't stop here, she couldn't stop at all. Something's were like that, once they stopped, they would never start again.

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to centre herself, breathing slowly in and out. She couldn't let herself get out of control. Her grasp on time was already precarious, and she couldn't let it get any worse.

She had a plan, a detailed plan that didn't include freaking out and definitely didn't include being found out. Calming down, Hermione started to move again, feeling her gait smooth and become more confident.

In both of her lives Hermione had found comfort in scheduling, in having control over how she reacted to an uncertain world. It was no surprise, then, that when she was faced with the almost impossible task of finding Sirius that she would fall into the familiar pattern of planning.

First part of the plan: steal a Key Card. It was definitely one of the most simple parts, all the needed to do was rifle through someone's handbag or pocket and hope for the best.

Moving quickly, and trying her best to ignore the burn that was filling her body, she moved from one person to another, before, one her third try, she was able to find a level three pass.

Pleased, Hermione headed towards the lobby bathroom, where, when safety locked into one of the fancy stallers, her feet drawn up onto the toilet, she was able to start time again.

She almost cried with relief, her hands shaking and cheeks wet.

She was almost there, this was almost over.

* * *

Ron stood next to his father, the silence between them deafening. They were going up, a box with only thick cables stopping gravity from pulling them down. He breathed slowly, and tried to think of something else, anything else.

In the days since the Attack, Ron had only heard from his father three times. It was the expected amount of correspondence between Ron and his father in a week, though it was anything other than an expected week.

That morning, he had called as informed Ron they were going to clear out his mother's office at stark tower. The voice on the other end of the phone was gruff, and left no room for questions, so Ron had grabbed his bag and gotten in the waiting car.

It felt like his body was hollow, and all it would take to break him was a small tap.

The floor beneath them shuddered, and Ron closed his eyes and clenched his fist, trying to stop himself from crying out.

Beside him, his father did the same thing.

The elevator stopped, and the man between them got off. They were alone now, for the first time since it had happened. The weight of the words that needed to be said were crushing, pushing down in his chest, stopping him from breathing.

The silence continued, and Ron didn't know if he was the coward, or his father.

The elevator continued to rise.

* * *

Hermione sat on the toilet, breathing heavily and clutching her Asthma Inhaler. Her body was aching, like she had run a marathon, but the pain killers she had taken were taking the edge off.

Standing up, and stretching as best she could in the small space, Hermione peeked out into the bathroom. Empty, good.

Doing her best to look confident, as though she had not just spent the last two hours huddled on the toilet lid, Hermione unlocked the stall and left, washing her hand before entering the chaos of the looby. Clutching the stolen ID, she strode past the receptionist, and through the metal detectors and into the packed elevator.

Here was the tricky part. She could only go so far up on this elevator and ID, and the higher she went, the chance she had of running into Sirius. She was hoping it would just take a glance for him to remember, if he didn't already, after all, the portal in the sky had trigger her, why shouldn't it trigger him?

She closed her eyes as her stomach floated, butterflies eating away at her insides. Stepping forwards, Hermione made to turn left and…

Hermione froze. Ever since she had remember, it felt like she had been holding her breath, and finally, finally, she could breath.

* * *

Ron held the box close to his chest, insider books and notepads filled with messy writing, a family photo in fancy frames balanced on top, with Ron's own stiff face and fake smile staring out at him.

He hated it here, he had since he was a child. The stiff corridors that he parents loved more than him, the uncomfortable chairs that he was forced to spend hours sitting on with nothing to do.

It was worse now, with the echos of the dead that called from the chipped walls and stained carpets.

He knew that this place would haunt his dreams, he knew that no matter how are he ran, once he closed his eyes he would be waking down his hallway again.

He was so caught up in his own head, that he didn't notice the figure coming towards him, and it wasn't until she slammed into him,wrapping him in a huge, bear hug, causing him to drop his box to the floor, that he saw her, Hermione, his Hermione that obviously remembered him, that he let himself relax and return the hug.

The same vein thought passed through both their minds as they stood their, tears leaking out of eyes and sobs being swallowed, that everything was going to be okay, now that they had each other.

* * *

Harry felt like he was trapped in a glass box, just that little bit removed from everything that was happening around him. It was a strange feeling, made stranger by the fact that he had no idea what had started it. A small part of him wondered if it had steamed from the attack on New York, the feelings, had, after all started around them.

Only, the more he thought about it, the more he felt like that was not the case at all. For Some reason, the New York invasion felt, well, (normal), like weird things happened to him everyday.

His mother was worried, he knew, after he had refused desert, but he couldn't really explain it to her and anyway, he was sure she wouldn't understand, how could she, when he didn't understand himself?

It was school holidays at least, so he didn't have to deal with his friends, though they had been trying to connect him, sending videos of the avengers which he didn't watch, and news reports showing the devisation which he couldn't look away from.

That's what Harry found himself doing most days, lying in bed and letting the sun warm his bones, looking at the pictures of fallen buildings and blurred out bodeis, trying to feel something.

His nightmares had been getting worse, maybe that was it. He was so tried, scared to sleep. He had read that sleep depravation did that to you sometimes, before killing you. Harry didn't really want to die, but at the same time, it was hard to care very much about it.

signing, Harry made to close his laptop, before a small bing sounded, first from his speakers and then his phone. Signing again, he saw that a he'd been tagged in a fluff video, already going viral. On it, the blurry, heavily pixelated image of a boy and a girl hugging.

 **LOVERS REUNITED 3 3 3,** screamed the title, and soppy music played as Harry moved his mouse over the window. A red headed boy held a box close to his chest, before a bushy haired black girl crashed into him, tears running down her check. Her faced flashed towards the camera for a moment, and Harry gasped and the box around him started to cracked.

Hermione and Ron tear filled faces loomed in his mind, as he remembered. His heart leaped, before falling, breaking, hiding in his chest because he saw his dreams, he saw Voldemort and his promise of Malfoy coming through the veil.

He needed to get to New York, he needed to find his friends and make sure they were alright. he wouldn't be able to live with himself if they got hurt because of him.

* * *

 _So it wasn't as long as I would have liked, nor did I get all the content i was aiming for, but I wanted to get a chapter out before everyone forgot what happened in the last one._

 _Coming up: Tony is confronted, Harry tried to get to New York, and Ron and Hermione spend some time together, and plan what to do next._

 _Please review and follow._


	5. Chapter 5

**Wow, long time no see.**

 **I am very sorry for how long this has taken, and my only excuse is that, sometimes, real life comes first.**

* * *

 **I would like to thank the amazing AberforthDumbledore090 for betaing this story, and helping making this chapter happen!**

* * *

Ron was content to be held. He was content to remain in the arms of his best friend, his only ally in this world. For the first time in almost a week his heart wasn't racing, he wasn't scared and tense. For the first time since this had all started, he felt like things, maybe, will be alright.

Of course, like most things in life, the moment was quickly ruined, and like most things in Ron's life, it was ruined by his father's heavy hand pulling him away from something he loved. The box that he had dropped was shoved into his arms, and a glare was levelled at his tear streaked face.

Beside him, Hermione stepped away and wiped her eyes. A part of him was glad that he wasn't the only one crying, though this thought was quickly forgotten as he took in the look on his father's face.

Ron blinked, and half expected it to start thundering, his father looked that grim. Ron clutched the box to his chest, knowing what he would have to somehow explain how he knew Hermione, and that, whatever he said, his father would somehow find a problem with it.

"Dad...' Ron started, his voice squeaking and face going red, "This is Hermione, I err, know her from school?"

He could feel the blood slowly rushing to his face, his heart pumping faster and faster in his chest. He suddenly felt like he was stuck between a wall and a hard place. He didn't want to leave Hermione's side, but he didn't want his father to be angry with him.

It was a horrible feeling, that piled on top of the other horrible feelings that had been building up inside of him over the past week. He was stuck between two worlds, two pasts that clashed in his mind and left him with no space to breath.

"Ronald" His Father said, holding his own box, with, Ron noted, slightly shaking hands, "You're making a scene."

Naturally, his father had ignored him, as he always did, and Ron didn't know how to respond, what to do. He glanced at Hermione out of the corner of his eyes. She looked blank, her face slack as she watched the two of them. Ron was suddenly hit with a memory of his previous father, of his kind, worn face, of how much-loved Ron, and how happy he was to let any friends.

Ron grimaced, and felt a bead of sweat run down his back. He stammered out a mass of incoherent words, but quickly shut at the glare his father shot him. Ron felt like crying all over again, and the weightless feeling at seeing Hermione again was gone.

"Hello Mister Weasley," Hermione said as the silence stretched on, as the crowd that had gathered around them dispersed. "It's very nice to meet you."

She held out her hand, and Ron's father looked at her with a slack face, before shifting his box, and shaking her hand, three pumps, firm grip. Even in the worst circumstances, Ron thought bitterly, his father was a business man, a people pleaser.

"I'm very sorry Miss…" Ron's father started, withdrawing his hand.

"Granger, Hermione Granger." Hermione supplied, her face still blank.

"Miss Granger" he continued, his tone becoming polite but dismissive. "But my son and I have a lot of work to do today, and we must be getting on."

Hermione nodded, and Ron felt a deep flash of fear run through him at the thought of being away from her. It coiled inside of him, and he blinked hard, trying to stop the tears that threatened to fall.

He couldn't leave her. Who knew when they would see each other again.

Suddenly, his fist was closed, though he had no recollection of closing it. It took him another moment to realised that it was closed around something, a scrap of paper.

Hermione shot him a small smile, her lips quirking, and Ron felt weightless. She had powers, teleportation, or something like that. It didn't matter, she had a way of making sure they met again.

Ron felt silly for ever doubting, Hermione could fix anything, and, Ron would follow her to hell and back if it meant staying together.

"It was good to see you again Ron, Good to know you're okay." Hermione said softly, her eyes red. Tears were still rolling down her cheeks. Ron wiped his own eyes again, and smile wide, letting out a laugh.

Everything was going to be okay.

* * *

 _Meet me in one hour, 123 street café._

 _Xxx_

* * *

ords couldn't describe how Hermione felt. As she sat on a cheap plastic table, stirring horrible coffee and looking up at the bright blue sky. She day hadn't gone to plan, she hadn't been able to meet up with Sirius, but something better had happened.

After seeing Ron, it become clear that her plan would have to be abandoned. Maybe she would run into Sirius, but maybe she wouldn't. Either way, it would take her all day to look, and all of tomorrow, and the next day. All of this would-be time she couldn't spend with Ron.

Ron, who could offer a new angle to all of this, who could maybe get her into see Sirius without any underhanded tactics.

She hadn't known Ron had follow her through the veil. She'd been into much pain to think properly, too much pain to know what was happening, other than Harry was dead, and it was up to her to save him.

It was always up to her.

So, she'd done what she had to do. She put on her big girl pants and used the hospital wing's floo, creeping past a sleeping Luna and a bundle of sheets she thought was Ron, she went to the Ministry, empty and destroyed, and followed her footsteps from the days before.

Not mind was blank as she stepped through the veil. She didn't look back.

She hadn't expected this of course, because who would? In all she'd read, something like this was impossible, a new world, with new technology and people who didn't exist in the last one. A brave new world indeed, one she wasn't quite sure how to navigate with these new memories and feelings.

She was so caught up in her thoughts, she almost didn't notice Ron approaching. Ten minutes early, he strode confidently across the road, making a beeline for her. it was all she could do to stay in her seat, it was all she could do not to burst into tears at the sight of him.

Ron sat down in front of her, his face matching his hair and a wide smile covering his face. Hermione started at him for a moment. He was shorter then she remembered, with neatly cropped hair. He still had the Weasley hair, and his face was littered with freckles. He was the same, but so different.

He was also crying, big fat tears rolling down his face as he looked at her with wide eyes.

"Hermione," he whispered at last, and she couldn't keep the tears back. Reaching over and clutching his hands, Hermione smiled back.

They talked. They caught up. The distance between them became less and less, until it felt like they'd spent every day of their new lives together.

"So," Hermione said at last, her coffee cold and the light dying around her, "What do we do now?"

Ron shrugged, picking at the chocolate muffin in front of him. "We find Harry? I mean, isn't that what we always do?"

Hermione shakes her head and grins fondly, before turning serious." But _how_ do we find him, Sirius is out best bet, with all his resources, but we're going to struggle to get to him."

Ron shakes he head and grins, "Mmy father has his cell number."

Hermione's head darts upwards, her eyes widening. A surprised laugh bubbles up, and once she starts, she can't stop. Tears are clouding her vision, and she puts her head in her hands. She knows she must look crazy, but she didn't care.

A path was laid out in from of her, a path were everything would be okay.

* * *

Harry sat on the bus and looked out the window. He was floating, the heat making the world around him feel blurry. The stab of emotion he had felt when he saw Ron and Hermione had long since faded, leaving him with a single-minded focus and a sentence running around his mind: _He had to get to New York._

It was a strange feeling, made strange by these new memories flooding his mind. Memories of pain and hurt and so much loss, memories that were like fire in his mind, burning his body, and leaving a blackened husk behind. It felt like all of his life had been a lie, and these memories were the truth, the thing he had been waiting for.

A part of him hated to remember, a part of him hated Hermione and Ron for making him remember. He knew it wasn't fair, but now his anger was directed and he couldn't think of another outlet. He wanted to see his friends, he wanted to make sure they were alright, and be the person he was in his past life, but he was just so angry, but it was just so hard.

Looking back, at who he was and who is, there is a mountain of difference that he just can't bring himself to climb. He is _happy_ here, and the idea of going back fills him with a dread that he can't shake.

But he was going back. Diving in head first, and he wasn't quick sure why. Maybe it was because he was so tried, maybe it was he wanted to see his friends again, and warn them.

 _(Mmaybe it was because that voice in his head just wouldn't shut up.)_

All he knew, was that he had to get to New York.

It felt like his two lives were fighting against each other, that at the end of this, he would have to choose one of them.

He had a horrible feeling that he already knew which one he'd choose.

He hoped his mom wouldn't be mad.

* * *

 **There! I hope you like this chapter, and read and review! The next chapter is almost complete, so, hopefully, the wait for it won't be too long.**

 **Thank you very much for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A lot of work went into this chapter, and several things happened that I didn't initially plan, so I hope you enjoy it.**

 **Thank you so much for everyone who reviewed, this chapter is for you, with the hopes that you have a great day, and an even better week!**

* * *

 **I would like to thank the amazing AberforthDumbledore090 for betaing this story, and helping making this chapter happen!**

* * *

The plan was simple, with little chance to fail, though Ron still dreaded every moment of it. he stared down at his phone, a lump in his throat and a stone in his gut.

It wasn't _fair_ , though Ron knew this had little to do with anything, he couldn't help feeling a little put out at the fact that this was happening to him. Of course, depending on who you asked, his whole life hadn't been fair, though it generally skewed in the other direction, because _he_ hadn't done anything to deserve all the riches he had been given, the fancy roof over his head, and the dozens of friends he had stopped playing with after a week.

Maybe all this was just some cosmic power evening it out, another kind of magic that had followed them through the veil. It was unlikely, but then again, this whole thing was unlikely.

Ron picked up his phone and called his father.

There was a line of destruction across New York, where, if you faced the right way, it looked like nothing was wrong. The further you moved past the line, the more normal the streets seemed. There were no flowers or shrines, no blood stains and cordoned streets with piles of alien bodies.

It was like stepping from one world to the next, Ron mused, as he walked to the restaurant where he would meet his father, a wholly surreal experience for someone who had done just that.

Laughing quietly, Ron glanced at his watch and picked up the pace. He had rung his father four times before getting through to him, and what followed was a half an hour lecture about wasting time, not including the time it had taken Ron to get him to agree to a meet up. He had had to grovel and beg, with his father only agreeing to a quick lunch just to get him off the phone.

* * *

His mother was the same, though she was a slight more upfront about it. If he had called her, she wouldn't have picked up at all.

It was a stab in his gut, a pain in his chest, but something he couldn't think about. There was a plan, there were pages and page of bullet points with colour coded tabs. If he didn't do this, all that work went down the drain, if he didn't do this, he was lost.

The restaurant was high end. A stained red-carpet lead to a heavy door, leading into a large foyer with lofty ceilings and exposed brick work, oil paintings hung on the wall, looking odd and out of place. Two stained glass doors showing sky and fields lead to the main hall, and a man stood behind a podium was centred in front of them.

He stared down at Ron, an unimpressed look in his face. Ron pulled down the sleeves of his blazer, and smoothed out the lines of his shirt.

"Mr Weasley, I assume?" the attendee greeted, looking at Ron's hair, and turning around before he had the chance to reply.

As soon as the man's back was turned, Ron sent the prewritten text to Hermione.

Step One: Complete.

* * *

Hermione slowed to admire the destruction. Within the heart of the city, it was hard to see just how much damage had been done, but looking across at the half-fallen buildings, a shiver went down her spine. How had she survived it?

Hermione turned and carried on. It was almost over. She sent the text. With another glance at the ruined city, she moved forwards.

* * *

Ron sat across from his father, staring as he drained another glass of whiskey, his third since Ron had sat.

As soon as the glass touched the table, it was replaced with another one, causing Ron to wince. Other than the brief greeting upon his arrive, and the murmured orders to the waiter, no words had passed between them.

Ron could see his father was getting impatient, he was glancing at his phone every other second, and Ron knew he would have to talk if he wanted his father to stay. Only, that was harder than it sounded. Ron was pretty sure that an honest word had never passed between them, and he wasn't sure how his father would react.

There was so much to be said, a wall between them that Ron wasn't sure would ever come down. But Ron found himself wanting to try, a strange urge. Maybe it was because he had a different life inside of him now, maybe it was always there, just buried beneath resentment, for the first time, Ron was willing to make the first move.

He just didn't know what it was.

* * *

There were several problems with outright stealing the phone, Ron and Hermione soon found, namely, once they had it, they had no way to get in. The only way around this, was to have it already unlocked when they got it.

* * *

Once the ball got rolling, the plan was simple enough, but the ball was heavy, and Hermione wasn't quite sure she could do it.

Once she arrived, the plan branched off into two directions, with the choice falling on Hermione's shoulders of which way they should go. Looking up at the buildings surrounding her, Hermione let the panic overtake her.

The panic that was always there, just below the surface. It was getting easier to let it out, easier to let it over take her. It also happened a lot faster now. A week of almost nonstop practice meant that time would stop after only a minute of concentration, and would stay still for almost 10.

It still hurt though, still burned through her veins, and each time she started, it felt new, it left her gasping for breath.

She pasted the man in the fancy suit, and pushed the doors open, taking in the impeccably dressed people. This was, without a doubt, one of the fanciest places she had ever been, with one meal costing more than she would make in a month at her job behind a till.

She would normally feel like an imposter, but she had no time for that at the moment. Walking across the room, Hermione clenched her fists, and got to work.

She hoped to God this worked.

* * *

Ron dove in. It was hard, but he did it. The question hung in the air between them, and his father looked out, maybe that Ron would have to ask, or maybe that he had asked at all.

There was an unspoken rule in the Weasley household about tough questions and topics. They weren't asked, and they weren't talked about. There's was a house of formalities, and nothing else. Ron had followed these rules, fallen into the role his parents had wanted him to play. He was forced to act like he didn't need them, and in turn, they pretended they wanted him.

Ron was such a good actor that he hadn't even realised he was acting. An old life brought more than new memories, it brought some much-needed context, it brought the knowledge that things can't go on like this.

During the elevator ride it had become clear to him that his father wouldn't make the first step. It became clear that, while his father may not be happy with the what they were, he was content enough not to rock the boat.

Ron rocked the boat, and as he did, his world set on fire, quite literally.

* * *

Things didn't go to plan. This was all Hermione could think of as the flames shot upwards, spreading from table to table within the blink of an eye. Dread crept into Hermione's heart. This shouldn't be happening, the fire shouldn't be spreading that fast, it couldn't be.

But in the past week one, impossible event after impossible event had happened, and Hermione had had no choice but to roll with it.

Looking around, she knew she had to let time start again, if only so the people around her had chance to escape. She had no idea what would happen if the fire overtook them before time started again. Would they feel the pain of the fire as they died? or was it like falling asleep. there one minute, and gone the next. She didn't want to know.

With a gasp, Hermione ran to the other side of the room and dived under a table, bringing her knees to her chest and biting her lip hard enough to draw blood as a wave of pain rushed through her and the clock started tick.

The fire alarm sounded straight away, and people started to scream, rushing towards the door, stomping, pushing and shoving, desperate enough not to be caught in the flames that no thought was given to the lives of others.

Placing her sleeve over her mouth, Hermione tried her best to breath in clear air. All she had to do now was wait for the signal. She hoped to God it would be soon

* * *

Several tests had to be completed in order to test how the outside world reacted with Hermione's new power.

They had quickly learnt that things that many things didn't work like they should. While under, texts were not sent, and calls could not be made, and they would have to wait while time started again so it could go though.

This, unfortunately, meant that they would not only have to get the unlocked phone away from Ron's father, they would have to keep it long enough from the message to be sent, something he would surely notice once it was back in his hand.

Something which would draw questions that couldn't logically be answered.

So, they reluctantly decided, the phone would have to be kept after the message had been typed.

It had been Ron's idea to replace it completely, and Ron's money that had bought another one. Once the battery was drained and the phone completely wiped, the way forwards was simple, all it took now was nerve and timing.

* * *

Ron's father guided him out the door, his heavy hands on Ron's shoulders. Ron's thoughts dragged, his mind in the fire, watching it blaze and consume, screaming monsters rise from the flames, coming to kill him, and for a moment he was back in the apartment, the fire burning him, the eyes of dead monsters staring at him.

For a moment he was dying.

He felt weightless, like he was floating in the smoke-filled air.

Everything went out of his mind, and he stayed sat down, staring, unable to tear his eyes away, until his father had dragged him upwards, bringing him back to earth, making him feel his heart beating wildly in his chest.

He didn't expect to be this scared.

He didn't expect his lungs constricting, refusing to take in anymore air.

He didn't expect his father to do anything, to leading him outside, into the fresh air, so crisp and clean that Ron felt like crying.

The sun shown through the clouds. The warmth sinking deep into his sink, right down to his bones.

People pushed past him, cough and screaming and crying. He struggled to form a thought, as sirens rung in his ears. It felt like everything around him was happening in slow motion, and he watched, dazed, as his father took out his phone, not taking his hand off Ron's shoulder, and unlocked it.

A shot of adrenaline rushed through him, breaking through the daze. sticking his hand in his pocket, he sent the next text in the que.

* * *

Time flickered. The fire raged. Hermione fought her panic, coughing and spluttering, until she couldn't take it anymore. She didn't care that she might be caught, she didn't care that it wasn't part of the plan. She needed to get out of here.

On her hands and knees, she crept out from under the table. Confused and disorientated, she staggered upwards, spreading her arms in front of her until she hit a wall. Following it round, she felt for the door and preyed she was going the right way.

In her pocket, a phone buzzed, and she let the panic take over. Time stopped as she tripped through a door, falling forwards and crying out in pain as her knees cracked on the floor, leaving a smear of blood. Slowly, she started to crawl towards the sunlight, the air and a flash of bright red hair.

She could do this.

She would do this.

Away from the fire, his hand still gripping Ron's shoulder, Mr Weasley's phone died, causing him to curse. Damn smoke, must have messed with the wiring.

Tony Stark glanced at his phone and frowned. One of the pencil pushers had messaged him, Arthur Weasley, J.A.R.V.I.S. prompted, worked on the 30th floor. The name sounded familiar, though he was quite sure he had never met, nor heard of the man before.

The text itself was even stranger.

HARRY POTTER DYING MESSAGE 520-624-1394 FOR MORE DETAILS.

Tony frowned, shaking as his stomach clenched. He felt like he should remember the news, even though it was new to him. He felt like he should be doing something, jumping up and rushing into action for this boy, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why.

Finally, he shrugged. He felt like this sometimes, ever since Afghanistan. Like he'd forgotten something important.

He deleted the text.

* * *

 **Well, Well, Well...**

 **Thank you all so much for reading this, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as the last. As always, Please read and Review, no matter what your thoughts are, I love to hear them!**

 **Next time is a chapter all about Harry!**


	7. Chapter 7

Hello!

Sorry about the wait, Uni's been a witch, and writing is hard when you have a million other things to do.

Anyway! Here it is! I hope you enjoy, and a huge thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed the previous chapter!

* * *

 **I would like to thank the amazing AberforthDumbledore090 for betaing this story, and helping making this chapter happen!**

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All his life, Harry had been impulsive and headstrong. Charging in and refusing to stop. It had been something his parents had done their best to curb, and, when that didn't work, direct into something useful.

It was for this reason that Harry took up running, stepping into the lifestyle like he had been born into it.

It was also, for this reason, that Lily Potter was not surprised by the note on the table stating his intention to go to New York, to try and find his friends.

He, of course, promised to keep in touch and not do anything dangerous. He, of course, promised to come back soon.

For some strange reason, Lily found this hard to believe, and, even stranger, she could feel tears running down her cheeks as she reached to call the police.

* * *

Harry stood in the train station, his insides stone. He felt sick.

This was a bad idea, this was such a bad idea and it would totally come back to bite him in the ass one day soon, but Harry just couldn't bring himself to care.

The worry he should be feeling was pushed to be back of his mind, where it wouldn't bother him.

People shoved past him, and for a moment he paused, unsure which direction to take. The sky was dark and cloudy, with skyscrapers reaching upwards, lit up by tiny squares of light. A bright blue A shown in the dim light. Brighter than any of the stars in the sky.

Stark Tower.

Somewhere, inside the building, sat his godfather.

A sharp pain shot through Harry 's chest, and he closed his eyes. He couldn't get the image of Sirius falling through the veil out of his head, the mirth in his eyes and the small smile playing at his lips. It haunted him.

For so long, Sirius was all Harry had had in the way of family, and staring up at the tower, it still felt like that. Harry forgot his parents and sisters, he forgot his new life and was lost in the memories of the Boy-Who-Lived.

He physically ached to see Sirius, but his feet wouldn't move, because no matter how brave he wanted to be, he couldn't bring himself to risk Sirius's life again. He had already died once because of Harry , and he didn't know how he would cope with the guilt if it happened all over again

He started off in the opposite direction, pulling his hood up against the rain.

Harry had tried too hard to find Ron (who appeared to be an only child in this new universe) and Hermione, but after combing through old social media accounts, and dozens of unanswered messages, he had to admit defeat. He was against the clock after all and waiting for his phone to buzz wasn't going to get him anywhere.

So, Harry moved onto plan B.

* * *

Arthur Weasley was a very successful lawyer, who came from a long line of rather successful lawyers. His had finished first in his class at Yale law, and had been headhunted by Stark industries straight from college.

Here, he had risen through the ranks, before marrying a coworker at age thirty. A year later, an announcement had been posted in the local paper about baby boy, named Ron Weasley, being born.

The man's entire history -made up of business profiles, online CVs and newspapers - there, for anyone to find.

Privacy was truly dead.

With all this information, all Harry had to do was find the man. Something, he soon found, was easier said than done.

The crowd around Stark tower was huge, a heaving mass of people screaming and crying. Harry was pretty sure if he entered it, he would never be seen again. No one got in, no one got past. Which meant there must be another entrance for the employees, somewhere out of sight.

Somewhere Harry had no idea how to get to.

So, he had to go another route.

* * *

The subway was dank and dark, only a block away from the tower and normally heaving with people. Early in the morning however, when the sweltering heat is almost bearable, the only passengers are the brave and work weary.

Harry sits, his eyes heavy, clutching a cup of coffee. He's been here all night, smiling tightly at the people around him and shaking his head when they offer him money.

It's almost six A.M when he sees his target.

He looks almost exactly how Harry remembers him. A little bit less plump maybe, a little bit less shabby, with a finely tailored suit instead of hand-me-down robes.

Harry can't help but to stare, and for a moment, as if the man had felt Harry 's gaze, they lock eyes. Mr. Weasley makes a beeline towards him, and Harry feels a stab of sudden hope in his chest. He didn't think Arthur would remember him, but maybe….

The older man puts his hand in his pocket and drops a handful of coins in Harry 's half empty cup before walking away.

Harry sighs, his hopes, and his coffee, ruined. Back to plan A.

* * *

Harry waited at the station, waited for Mr. Weasley to come back. He got lunch from a nearby cafe, washing his face in the sink and changing his clothes in the toilet stall.

That night, when Mr. Weasley entered the station, dropping a five-dollar bill in a guitar case of a nearby musician, Harry stood up, stretching his arms upwards and shaking his legs to get feeling back into them, before he started to tail the older man.

Mr. Weasley had no idea how to spot a tail, which was good, because Harry had no idea how to tail someone, with his only experience being TV shows and movies.

Normally, he went in guns, or wands, blazing, and his skin was itching in an effort it took to walk so slowly.

What was worse, was that the man didn't seem to be going anywhere. He had gotten off one train, only to get on another that went in the opposite direction. Even when he was above ground, all he did was walk in circles, stopping to read newspapers from stands and make small talk with the vendors.

It was dark by the time he stopped, and Harry almost screamed in frustration when he realized it was a hospital, a place where he couldn't follow.

All that, for nothing. Harry turned around and walked away. He would spring for a motel tonight, even if the prices had been inflated to a ridiculous degree.

He needed a rest, a shower and to regroup.

* * *

The subway station was not a place Harry wanted to be early in the morning, or early at night, or, if he was being honest, anytime at all. He had missed Mr. Weasley on his way to work that morning, skidding into the station sometime past nine.

For the rest of the morning he had sat on his flattened cardboard box and felt sorry for himself, cursing this hole venture. He wanted to go home, but every time the thought entered his head, so did the blood red eyes of Voldemort, glaring down at him.

The look of his followers, as they stared up at Harry in fear.

Whatever was coming, whatever they had planned, Harry was the only person who could stop them, and as much as he hated dragged Ron and Hermione into the thick of it, he couldn't do this without them by his side.

He needed his friends.

It was then, as if by magic, summoned by Harry 's yearning and desperation, Mr. Weasley appeared, his face grim.

He looked different from the other times Harry had seen him. Gone was the easy confidence that let him stroll through the station as if it were a star hotel, instead, he radiated a nervous energy, his hands twitching and his step faltering.

If Harry didn't know any better, he would say the man was walking towards his death.

All at once, Harry was unsure if he should follow. Uncertainty seized him, he didn't, after all, want to be spotted following the man. If Mr. Weasley called the police about the strange boy following him, being sent home would suddenly become the least of his issues.

But, Mr. Weasley wasn't looking at him, and it wouldn't be the most unusual thing for a father to meet up with his son, especially so soon after such a traumatic event.

Harry got up, grabbing his backpack and cup full of change, torn between hope and an ever-growing feeling that this was a very bad idea.

* * *

Following Mr. Weasley had been a very bad idea. Despite his earlier success, it turned out Harry had no idea how to follow someone, and, as soon as he stepped off the train, lost Mr. Weasley in the seething mass of people.

He was somewhere on the upper east side, only a few blocks away from central park, and right on the edge of the destruction. Here he could see what New York was meant to look like. Free from the rumble and half fallen buildings, people moved about freely, laughing and holding hands.

Storefronts had abhorrent displays, showcasing fancy clothes and jewellery that cost more than Harry 's parents would make in a month.

On every window was a sticker with the New York skyline, with the words WE REMEMBER written in red and gold below.

A show of support for the fallen.

Harry walked, already lost. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he didn't want to go back.

He passed a restaurant with a dirty red carpet, people were spilling out, coughing and covering their faces. In the distance he could hear the roar of a fire engine.

Harry blinked, and a crowd of bystanders formed around him, watching the carnage as smoke started to spill out of the door.

Some moved forwards to help, offering watch and phones. Most watched. Already, a thick plume of fire was slinking upwards.

Harry stepped forwards, unsure what to do. He helped a staggering old lady forwards, guiding her towards a nearby bench, and gave her his phone so she could phone her son.

It was because of this he saw it. He was across the small street, at an angle where he could see the door to the restaurant through a parting in the crowd. A blur. Moving behind the frosted doors.

There one second and gone the next.

Harry frowned and took a half step forward. he was sure he saw someone. The women broke through his thoughts. Thanking him and offering him his phone back.

He signed and sat down next to her. Watching as the fire crew arrived, followed closely by the ambulance and a police car.

It seemed he had failed. Maybe it was unreasonable, to expect to find two teenagers in such a big city. Harry considered himself luck, but maybe he just wasn't lucky enough.

Suddenly, hair, thick and bushy. Arms around his neck, and the smell of lavender and vanilla assaulting his senses.

"Hermione." He whispered, his voice hoarse with relief.

He hugged her back.

Everything was going to be okay.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy _burned._

He was going to die, the intricately carved runes covering his body glowed, shining bright purple in the darkness.

And then, all around him, balls of light, floating around him. He reached out to touch one, the effort made him cry out.

As soon as his finger thoughted the orb, it popped, and bright, white light spilled out.

The Light _burned._

Lucius screamed, and suddenly, he was falling.

* * *

Something was wrong. Loki sat in his cell, gagged and chained. The magic in the air around him buzzed and cried.

Yes. Something was very wrong, and maybe if he wasn't in these chains, he could go do something about it.

* * *

 **Well, Here it is!**

 **I'm not sure how will it'll take for the next chapter to come out, though I'm hoping for it to be completed before the end of next month.**

 **As always, I hoped you enjoyed this, and please follow and review!**


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